Managers of Mischief
by Baywood
Summary: Into a world where Sirius was sorted into Slytherin, James has few friends, and the Marauders do not exist, Fate throws one Harry James Potter. DH compliant up to the Battle of Hogwarts, contains alternate universe, time travel, and unconventional pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP, go figure...**

 **Chapter 1**

Euphemia Potter took a certain pride in ancestry—she was a well bred lady proud of her magical heritage. But at the same time she never belittled those without such a heritage. This wasn't a matter of pride, just common courtesy and common sense. But sadly, she knew that her attitude was not a common one.

Wizards were unsurpassed when it came to holding grudges, and in Euphemia's view, that's just what the self-styled Lord Voldemort had; an unsurpassed grudge against muggles and muggleborns. A simplistic view of the war, to be sure, but a sensible one in her opinion.

As Euphemia pressed herself against the wall of Madame Malkin's shop, her son James beside her, she couldn't help but curse the wizards' seemingly innate inability to move on, to forgive, and to let go of such grudges.

Spell-fire and explosions rocked Diagon Alley. The doors were physically barricaded with hasty wards thrown up to protect them, but every stray spell sent the whole building trembling.

Euphemia clutched James' hand tighter. Her fifteen year-old son was staring out the window—the parts not covered by clothing racks, tables, and benches—with wide eyes.

"The Aurors are here now, Mum," he said quietly, squeezing her hand. "It'll be okay."

Euphemia released a shaky breath but didn't loosen her grip on James' hand. She didn't want to look out the window, but her eyes were drawn to the scene anyway. She could see the Aurors had indeed arrived and were pushing back the Death Eaters swarming the Alley.

A few minutes later the sounds of fighting had ceased and an official-looking wizard came up to the door of the shop. Madame Malkin tentatively went up to the door, but didn't open it.

The Auror just gave her a tired smile and a thumbs up through the glass part of the door before moving on.

Everyone in the store gave a collective sigh of relief and several people began helping Madame Malkin replace her furniture and clothing racks and take down the wards.

Euphemia and James slipped out after a moment, Euphemia still holding her son's hand and pleased that James hadn't tried to pull away. Several people were helping the injured up and either apparating them away or leading them towards to Floos in the Leaky Cauldron. It seemed everyone was taken care of.

Euphemia released another shaky breath, her old heart fluttering uneasily in her chest.

"It's alright, Mum," James said. "Let's just get home."

A quiet groan stopped Euphemia from nodding to James. She turned to the side and found that her cursory glance of the Alley had missed something. A boy with familiar messy dark hair was on his knees only a few feet away, wand tight in his fingers and one hand pressed to his side. He slumped all the way to the ground with a pained moan, and the mother in Euphemia immediately released James' hand and hurried to the poor boy's side.

"Mum!" James shouted in surprise, but Euphemia focused fully on the boy.

"James, find an Auror or a Healer, if you can," Euphemia ordered, kneeling down next to the boy. She carefully rolled him up on his side so that gravity could help keep the blood in his body, and scooted up so that his back was supported by her knees. She gently pressed his hands, already covering his wound, harder against it to stem the bleeding. "Hold it tight there, dear," she told softly. "My son's gone for help, you'll be alright."

The boy grunted but didn't otherwise respond, pressing his face against the stone ground.

"What's your name, dear?" Euphemia asked as she pulled out her wand. She knew better than to cast any complicated or comprehensive healing spells on such a deep wound when she wasn't a certified Healer, but she did have a son, meaning she knew a little bit about dealing with wounds in general.

"Harry," the boy mumbled.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," Euphemia said kindly as she cast a blood clotting charm and then conjured a bandage that she quickly slipped between the boy's hands and his side. "My name is Euphemia."

"Pleasure," Harry murmured. He was awfully pale and Euphemia could feel his whole body trembling.

"You must be in shock," Euphemia said, more to herself than to Harry, but the boy answered anyway.

"You think?" he huffed. "I thought I was taking it rather well."

"No need to get sarcastic," Euphemia scolded, but without any real heat. She looked down at him and pressed her lips tight together. He looked too young to be here on his own. "Is you family here, Harry?"

"They're dead," he said bluntly, and Euphemia guessed this wasn't a recent development or he wouldn't be so blasé about it.

"Who are you here with?" Euphemia pressed, looking around to see if any adult or friend would come to claim the child.

"No one," Harry whispered. "No one at all."

Euphemia stared at the boy, feeling her heart break for him.

"Over here!" James called, and Euphemia automatically looked up, searching for her son. James was jogging over with a Healer in tow.

The Healer immediately knelt down opposite Euphemia on Harry's other side and cast a few diagnostic charms. "This is serious Dark magic," the Healer proclaimed. "We need to get him to St. Mungo's immediately."

Euphemia nodded but kept her hand on Harry as the Healer stood again.

 _"Levicorpus,"_ the Healer intoned, waving his wand and causing Harry to rise a few feet into the air. "The Aurors have set up an apparition point to St. Mungo's just a little ways down."

"Lead the way," Euphemia said, one hand tight on Harry's arm as the Healer cast a few more healing charms on Harry's wound.

While they walked, the Healer glanced between Euphemia, James, and Harry and asked, "Is this your son, ma'am?"

Euphemia hesitated only a moment before answering definitively, "Yes, he is my son."

If this boy's family really was dead, and he truly had no one at all… well, Euphemia wasn't about to let him stay that way. She'd adopt him herself. And she wasn't going to let herself be separated from him in the controlled panic of St. Mungo's. She wouldn't risk him being released from St. Mungo's before she was sure he had somewhere to go. It was deplorably easy these days for children to be lost in the chaotic aftermath of a raid.

Her decision cemented, Euphemia glanced back at James and smiled at his confusion. "His name is Harry."

* * *

"James! James!"

James looked up at the sound of his father's voice and saw the man rushing toward him, relief evident on his aged features. "Dad," he said, matching his relief.

His father reached him and immediately pulled him into a tight hug. "Thank Merlin you're alright," Fleamont Potter said, holding James close. "I came as soon as I heard about the attack. Were you hurt? Where's your mother? Is she hurt?"

"We're both fine," James said into his father's robes. "But I think we're adopting."

Fleamont pulled back a little, but still kept his arms around his son. "Did a kitten get caught in the crossfire?" he asked dryly.

James grinned. "Something like that."

"Because with the amount of rescued creatures we've taken in Potter Manor is getting a bit crowded," Fleamont joked.

James shared a quiet laugh with his father over his mother's propensity for taking in injured or lost creatures, from kittens to house elves to, apparently, children. "No, this is an actual person. It was a boy, my age I think. Mum stayed with him while I went to get a Healer and when I came back she told the Healer he was her son and has been badgering them about him ever since we got here."

Fleamont stared at him for a long minute before he sighed. "You're serious."

James nodded, giving his father an amused smile.

"Well, I guess you'll be getting a brother," Fleamont said, shaking his head. "You know your mother. Once she's decided to take some hapless creature in, there's no denying her."

"But this is a person," James said, finally pulling all the way apart from his father. "A person could say no to Mum."

"Unlikely," Fleamont scoffed.

"Right," James said with a huff. "He can have the room next to mine.

* * *

"You look just like James."

Harry fiddled with the edge of the sterile white hospital shirt the Healer had given him in place of his ruined on. "Er, yeah, I guess," he mumbled, eyes downcast. "Funny that."

Mr. Potter, Harry didn't know his name (and how awful was it that Harry didn't know his own grandfather's name?), snorted, having been the one to comment on the similarity between Harry and his son.

"We could be twins," James said, incredulous awe coloring his voice.

"I think it's a sign," Euphemia proclaimed from where she stood a little to the side of Harry's bed with his burned robes draped over her arm.

Harry had been more than a little shocked when she had given him her full name and then told him unequivocally that she'd be taking care of him if really didn't have anyone else, like he'd said before.

"A sign that we should take him home, stuff him with food, and smother him with love?" James teased.

"Don't take that tone with me, James Potter," Euphemia said, sniffing indignantly, but Harry could see that she didn't mean it. She was teasing him right back. And Harry could only marvel at the sight.

"I'm just saying," James said, bringing his hands up in surrender. "This wouldn't be the first time."

"He has a point, dear," Mr. Potter joined in.

"There's nothing wrong with helping people," Euphemia said imperiously.

"We should rename Potter Manor," James joked.

"St. Euphemia's Rescue Home," Mr. Potter said with a grin.

The two chuckled, and Euphemia blushed a little. "Oh hush, you two," Euphemia said. "You're being rude. You haven't even introduced yourselves."

Both Potter men looked properly chastised and James bounded forward and stuck out his hand toward Harry. "I'm James Potter."

"Harry," he responded, firmly shaking his teenaged father's hand.

"Harry what?" James asked, curious.

"Just Harry," Harry said shortly, unsure of how to proceed. Fate, git that it was, hadn't given him many details or instructions on how to go forward. It had just dumped him in this new universe with a few sentences and a 'have fun!' He doubted it was a coincidence that he'd appeared so close to the Potters though.

"Fleamont Potter," Mr. Potter said, stepping forward and shaking Harry's hand as well. "As you may have guessed, my wife is quite intent on taking care of you."

Harry smiled a little. Being taken care of was a nice thought, but he hardly needed it. He'd gotten through eighteen years of his life without a family to take care of him, he was just fine. "I appreciate it," Harry said quietly. "But I'm alright. I'll find my way."

"Harry, dear," Euphemia cut in with a gentle voice. "You said your family was dead and you had no one with you."

Harry tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he wasn't sure it worked. "I'll find my own way, Mrs. Potter," he reiterated. "I've had a lot of practice."

"But you're just a child!" Euphemia protested.

Fleamont opened his mouth to say something to that, but Harry beat him to it. "I'm eighteen, Mrs. Potter. And I've been taking care of myself for a long time. I'll be okay."

Fleamont's eyebrows shot up at that. "Forgive my saying so, Harry, but you hardly look it."

"Yeah, you don't look any older than me," James agreed.

"How old are you?" Harry asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Fifteen," James responded.

A quick calculation told Harry that meant the date was somewhere around 1976.

"I don't believe you're older than sixteen," Euphemia huffed.

"I think you burst her bubble," James said, leaning in close and fake-whispering. "She really wanted to keep you."

"Harry," Fleamont said, stepping forward. "We won't force you into anything, but we'd like to know that you at least have somewhere to go."

Harry opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. Because he couldn't just up and find somewhere to stay. Not like before when, at the very least, he could find a secluded area and throw up a tent and some wards. As far as he knew, he'd arrived in this universe with nothing but his memories and the clothes on his back.

"Well, where were you staying before?" James asked sensibly when Harry didn't respond.

Harry hesitated again, making Euphemia burst out, "You haven't been living on the streets have you? All alone?"

"Well…" Harry dithered. He couldn't very well say he'd been alternately living in Grimmauld Place or a wizard tent, could he? "I have, sort of, been on my own for a while…"

Euphemia made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and James grinned at Harry. "Oh, you're in for it now," he whispered.

Fleamont sighed. "She's just going to kidnap you now, Harry."

James snorted, and Euphemia pinned them both with a glare. "Harry," she said, refocusing on him. "I don't mean to pry and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but would you perhaps tell us what happened to you? Even if you don't want to stay with us, perhaps we could help you."

"Er," Harry faltered, unsure of where to go from here. Hiding certainly had its pros: no one would try to lock him up in the mental ward, and he was less likely to disappear into some deep dark room in the Department of Mysteries. But then, being honest would certainly make interacting with people easier. Harry took a deep breath and began.

* * *

Fleamont could practically feel his brain failing to grasp what the boy in the hospital bed was telling them. The more he talked, the less Fleamont believed it. And yet… the boy seemed so sincere. And why lie about this? The Potters weren't that important of a family. Still, the story just seemed so impossible.

"Can you repeat that?" James squeaked when Harry concluded. "In small, summarized sentences."

Harry's lips twisted into a crooked smile and he said, "I'm your son from another universe. Fate ruined my life with a prophecy. It sent me here to give me a chance at a more normal life. It also said something about sending me to a James Potter than needed me as much as I needed him but," –here Harry shrugged– "I have no idea what that is supposed to mean."

James stared for a long moment before he whispered, "I do."

Fleamont looked sadly at his son, once again reminded that James' attitude as an eleven year-old had immediately put a lot of people off being his friend. He had many acquaintances, but no true friends. It seemed almost providential that this young man, who obviously needed friends and family, would show up so near Euphemia and James, both of whom treasured family and friendship.

Fleamont took a deep breath and decided: if this was a trick he'd get to the bottom of it, but if it wasn't he was going to love this boy like he was his own son—or grandson. "If you want, Harry," Fleamont said. "Our home is open to you."

It was subtle, but Fleamont could see the surprise written on the dimension traveler's face. "I… really?"

"Of course, dear!" Euphemia exclaimed. "We have more than enough space. Besides it'd do James good to have someone his age to spend time with."

Harry's eyes flitted from one face to the next before they settled on James. "A-alright…"

James cheered. "Yes! Now I really _can_ have a twin!"

Euphemia grinned and hugged Harry in her typical motherly fashion.

Fleamont smiled at the reaction. He was glad he had retired a few years ago and sold his company. He already knew he was going to be very busy.

The coming days were generally split three ways; he ran a test to confirm Harry's story, he worked to create Harry's existence in their dimension, and he spent some quality time with his family and their new addition. He tried an ancestry potion and he talked with someone in records about slipping in some documents. He tested Harry for glamours, transfigurations, or potions and he spent a few hours creating a story for Harry's past. He ran Charms tests on Harry's magic and blood for relation to the Potter family and he sent a letter to Headmaster Dumbledore concerning the enrollment of James' twin brother.

By the time August ended, Fleamont accepted the fact that he now had another son and thanked Fate for the gift he was.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So, just an idea that's been bothering me. And since I've been a bit stuck on my other HP story I decided to throw this one out there. This is one of those rarer stories that doesn't bash James. Will probably focus on Harry and James, a good amount of Remus, and then an equal amount of Sirius, Lily, and Snape. Might even give Peter a second chance since this is AU...

So, what did you think of chapter one?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP :/**

 **Chapter2**

"Harry!" James shouted, bursting into the room with Bluebell, a gray three-legged cat, on his heels. "Mum said if we're finished packing by nine, then she's made us breakfast."

"And if we haven't finished?" Harry asked, absently petting the soft hair of a thin black dog named Sleuth that had become rather fond of Harry. Harry in turn had become fond of the dog as well. Sleuth reminded him very much of Padfoot.

"Then she's made breakfast for her and Dad," James answered with a grin.

Harry tossed his book on Ancient Runes to the side and devoted both hands to rubbing Sleuth's pointed ears. "You know I finished packing last night," Harry said, giving James a knowing look.

"So you'll help me then?" James asked hopefully, stooping down and scooping up Bluebell, who immediately began purring.

With an overdramatic, put-upon sigh, Harry reluctantly pulled his warm toes out from under Sleuth's belly. "I don't know why you didn't do this last night."

James grinned and shifted Bluebell into one arm. "Thanks, Harry! You're the best!" James grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him off the bed and out of the room. Sleuth huffed and leaped out of the bed to follow Harry as James dragged him out of the room and down the hall.

James pulled Harry into his room, which looked as if it'd been hit with a hurricane, or at the very least a violent tornado. Balanced atop a chair James's trunk sat, overflowing with clothes and Zonko's products.

"You know, you could fold your clothes," Harry said with an amused smile. He patted Sleuth's head as the black dog butted his head against Harry's leg.

James grimaced. "But… fold… all of them?"

Harry snorted. "You're a mess, James," he said as he headed over to James' trunk and began unloading James' trunk.

"Hey, I already got that stuff in there," James protested.

"There's no room for anything else in here," Harry said. "I'm going to organize it for you so have a place for important things, like your textbooks."

James narrowed his eyes at the mention of textbooks. "You aren't going to start organizing study schedules for me, are you?" James said suspiciously, setting Bluebell on his bed.

Harry laughed at the thought. Hermione would've been thrilled but Ron would've been mortified. "Never," Harry promised sincerely.

"Good, because Evans was trying to impose study schedules on Lupin, Black, and Snape," James said with a shudder. "And I don't need you doing the same. It's nightmarish."

Harry bit his lip as he plucked up one of James' robes and began folding it. They hadn't talked much about James life, just Harry's, or avoided the subject of different dimensions altogether, preferring to pretend they really were twin brothers just playing Quidditch in the yard. "Lupin, Black, and Snape?" he asked hesitantly.

"They're all in our year," James said absently, heading over to his bookshelves. "Lupin is a Gryffindor and Black and Snape are Slytherins."

Harry stared mutely as James started pulling books of his shelf. Sirius a Slytherin? In what universe was that possible? Why was he in Slytherin? Was this Sirius completely different than Harry's godfather? Did he agree with pureblood ideals in this world?

"Harry? Harry?" James waved his hand in front of Harry's face, bringing his attention back to reality. "Is that different than what you're used to?"

Harry stared at James with wide eyes and blurted, "Sirius was a Gryffindor."

James eyebrows shot up. "Black in Gryffindor? Hah, there's an idea! A ridiculous one, mind you. He and Snape are best friends."

"What?" Harry squeaked. "Sirius and Snape _best friends_?! What kind of reality is this?"

"A real one," James said with amusement, tugging his robe out of Harry's frozen hands and tossing it into his trunk. "Did they hate each other or something in your reality?"

"Passionately," Harry said, letting his arms drop to his sides.

"Oh," was all James said, dropping his books in the trunk as well.

"Actually, in my reality, _you_ and Sirius were best friends," Harry said slowly. "Like brothers."

James face already had 'that's barmy' written on his face, but he still elected to say it aloud. "Your reality is barmy, Harry."

"You made him my godfather," Harry continued, picking up another article of clothing and folding in the hopes that doing something with his hands would somehow ground him, but his mind was still left reeling with all the unexpected information.

"Wow, next you'll be telling me I married Evans," James joked, kneeling down and half-crawling under his bed to reach something.

Harry dropped the clothes into James trunk. "Er, well…"

"I did?!" James exclaimed, banging his head on the underside of his bed as he jerked in surprise.

Harry nodded mutely, before realizing that James couldn't see him with his head still stuck under his bed. "Uh, yeah."

"But she hates me more than any other girl in Hogwarts!" James objected, dragging his cauldron and potions kit out from under the bed and rubbing his head where he'd bumped it. "She and Black and Snape all hate me together actually. Please tell me I wasn't friends with Snape in your world."

"No," Harry said. "You two hated each other."

"Oh good," James said, exhaling harshly in relief. "Your world isn't completely mental then. Only mostly."

Harry grinned a little at that. "Are you at least friends with Remus?"

"Er, we sort have a… truce," James said awkwardly, toting over his cauldron. "He's good friends with Evans, Black, and Snape, but he isn't quite as… easily offended as they are. We just kind of ignore each other."

Harry frowned. "What about… Pettigrew, then?"

James huffed and treated Harry with an amused grin. "Harry, when I said I didn't really have any friends, I meant it. Pettigrew mostly hangs out with Hufflepuffs and some of the younger Gryffindors."

"Who do you spend time with then?" Harry pressed. His father must spend his time with _someone_ right?

"Frank Longbottom, sometimes," James said with a shrug. "His family and mine are old friends. Otherwise I just kind of… float around, I guess."

So that's what Fate meant, Harry thought, remembering the whispered words. _I'll be sending you to a world where James Potter needs you as much as you need him._

From there Harry asked questions about as many people as he could remember, many of whom Harry didn't know or remember their house in his world, and soon had James' trunk packed neatly to the brim. Then they hurried down to have breakfast.

* * *

After breakfast, which had been such a warm, happy, bittersweet affair that Harry had wished it would last forever, the four Potters set off for Platform 9 ¾. When they arrived the train station was already bustling with a rainbow of colored wizards, checkered with the black-robed students. Their goodbyes were perhaps a bit longer than necessary, but James had no friends he was eager to meet and Harry was oddly nervous. But Euphemia had plenty of words, love, hugs, and kisses she wanted to lavish on her two boys before they left, and Harry was more than happy to let her. Fleamont just chuckled at James' discomfort coupled with trepidation and the way Harry shamelessly lapped up Euphemia's attention.

But then James had pulled his 'twin brother' away to find a compartment, and they said their farewells once more.

"Hopefully we can find an empty one," James muttered. "I don't fancy begging anyone to let me sit with them again."

Harry gave James a sympathetic look that he didn't see. "We could always find a compartment of impressionable first years."

James grimaced. "I'd rather not. Come on." Jerking his head forward since he didn't have any free hands to drag Harry along, as he'd become fond of doing, James trudged towards the back of the train. "Ah," James said, stopping in front of an empty compartment. "Lady Luck smiles down on us today."

Harry snorted. "That's new."

James grinned at him and slid the compartment door open. The two of them dragged their trunks inside and soon had themselves settled by the window. James had a huge grin on his face and was practically vibrating with energy, only growing more and more so as the train began to move.

"What has you so bubbly?" Harry asked with an amused small.

James's grin stretched impossibly wider. "I dunno. I guess it's just sinking in how different this year is going to be. I mean…" James trailed off for a moment, his eyes simultaneously lighting up and gaining a faraway look. "I'll have a brother, you know? Someone to play pranks and Quidditch with and sneak around Hogwarts at night and…" he trailed off again, heat rushing to his cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Harry smiled. "Don't worry about it, James. I get it."

Before James could respond the compartment door slid open once more to reveal a short, slightly plump blond boy, nervously fiddling with the door handle. Harry froze: Peter Pettigrew. It seemed that Lady Luck was not smiling down on them after all.

"D—" Peter began, but whatever he was about to say died in his throat as he stared at Harry and then James, looking utterly baffled. "J-James, why are t-there two of you?"

James chuckled, and the sound jolted Harry out of his own staring. _It isn't the same Peter Pettigrew, it isn't the same Peter Pettigrew,_ Harry chanted inwardly. _It isn't the same Peter Pettigrew._

"This is my twin brother," James explained. "Harry."

"Oh," Peter said in a small voice. "I thought you were an only child?"

"Er…" James faltered, glancing at Harry helplessly.

Quickly recovering from his shock, Harry scoffed, "Really James? Still pretending I don't exist? That got old when we were ten."

James immediately picked up on the save. "Well, you might as well not have for all the time you spent in the _library._ "

"I do _not_ spend that much time in the library!" Harry exclaimed truthfully. "Only a healthy amount."

"Healthy for a bookworm," James sniffed.

Harry huffed. "You're being rude, James. You haven't even introduced your friend here, and now he's uncomfortable."

James startled, as if he'd already forgotten Peter was there. "Oops, sorry. This is Peter Pettigrew. He's in our year and a Gryffindor."

Steeling himself and determinedly pushing away images of the older, ratty Wormtail, Harry stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"L-likewise," Peter stammered, shaking his hand. "D-do you mind if I sit here?"

"Sure, but don't you usually sit with your Hufflepuff friends?" James asked, puzzled.

"I got h-here a bit late," Peter explained. "Their compartment was already f-full. They said they'd make some space, but I d-didn't want to squeeze."

James shrugged. "Sure, come on in then."

"Thanks," Peter said quietly, dragging his trunk in. James and Harry helped him stow it away before resettled on the benches.

James and Peter engaged in some obligatory small talk about their summers while Harry tried to keep himself from lashing out or falling apart. Peter Pettigrew, the men who would turn traitor to the Light, betray his parents, kill Cedric Diggory, and help revive Voldemort. He would do so many horrible things. He was in the top three people Harry hated, right below Voldemort and Umbridge.

Harry bit his lip as he remembered that moment of hesitation when Pettigrew had considered showing mercy and the Voldemort's silver hand had strangled him to death. Though deeply buried and no doubt twisted beyond recognition, Pettigrew had possessed some form of honor. And at this point in time, Pettigrew hadn't likely committed himself toward the Dark side or made many Dark-leaning decisions. Right now, he was just a teenager like everyone else.

Mentally steeling himself, Harry swore that he'd give this Peter Pettigrew his chance, fair and square. Maybe he'd even try to sway him to the light, if possible.

Whatever the case, Harry refused to punish anyone for crimes they hadn't committed yet. This wasn't just his new start, it was everyone's new start. That's the way he had to think of it.

Harry took a deep breath. He could do this.

Plastering a smile onto his, Harry turned towards Peter Pettigrew and started a pleasant conversation.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry it took so long to get this out, guys. Life is pretty hectic right now :/ Oh well, you do what you can. Hope you enjoyed this update, and hopefully it won't be quite as long of a wait until chapter 3 :) I'd love to hear what you guys think!

By the way, I'm open to different/unusual pairing ideas if you all have any. No guarantees I'll use your suggestions, of course, but I'd love to hear them as I'm not set on any one pairing. Pairings will likely be on the side and not 'til later though.

Thanks for reading!


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